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12

Ite domum impasti, domino jam non vacat, agni.
Hæc tibi servabam lentâ sub cortice lauri,
Hæc, et plura simul: tum quæ mihi pocula Mansus,
Mansus Chalcidicæ non ultima gloria ripæ,
Bina dedit, mirum artis opus, mirandas et ipse,
Et circum gemino cælaverat argumento:
In medio, rubri maris unda et odoriferum ver,
Littora longa Arabum, et sudantes balsama silvæ:
Has inter Phoenix, divina avis, unica terris,
Cæruleum fulgens diversicoloribus alis,
Auroram vitreis surgentem respicit undis,
Parte aliâ, polus omnipatens et magnus Olympus;
Quis putet? hic quoque Amor, pictæque in nube pha-

retræ,
Arma corusca faces, et spicula tincta pyropo:
Nec tenues animas, pecusque ignobile vulgi,
Hinc ferit; at, circum flammantia lumina torquens,
Semper in erectum spargit sua tela per orbes
Impiger, et pronos nunquam collimat ad ictûs:
Hinc mentes ardere sacræ, formæque deoruin.
Tu
quoque

in his, nec me fallit spes lubrica, Damon ; Tu

quoque in his certè es, nam quò tua dulcis abiret
Sanctaque simplicitas, nam quò tua candida virtus?
Nec te Lethæo fas quæsivisse sub orco :
Nec tibi conveniunt lacrymæ, nec flebimus ultra;
Ite procul, lacrymæ; purum colit æthera Damon,
Æthera purus habet, pluvium pede reppulit arcum;
Heroumque animas inter, divosque perennes,
Æthereos haurit latices, et gaudia potat

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. Our readers can require no additional information, in this place, respecting Manso, the amiable and literary Marquis of Villa. A colony of Greeks, partly from Cumæ in Æolia, and partly from Chalcis in Eubea, settled on the coasts of Campania, where they built Cuma and Neapolis. From this circumstance the country of Naples is sometimes called Chalcidian, and, in Virgil, Eubaan.

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Ore sacro.

Quin tu, celi post jura recepta,
Dexter ades, placidusque fave quicunque vocaris,
Seu tu noster eris Damon, sive æquior audis f
Diodotus, quo te divino nomine cuncti
Coelicolæ nôrint, silvisque vocabere Damon.
Quòd tibi purpureus pudor, et sine labe juventus
Grata fuit, quòd nulla tori libata voluptas,
En etiam tibi virginei servantur honores :
Ipse caput nitidum cinctus rutilante corona,
Lætaque frondentis gestans umbracula palmæ,
Æternùm perages immortales hymenæos;
Cantus ubi, choreisque furit lyra mista beatis,
Festa Sionæo bacchantur et Orgia thyrso.

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DAMON,

AN EPITAPHIAL ELEGY."

Ye Nymphs of Himera, (whose stream along
The notes have floated of your mournful song,

f. For the accominodation of his verse, the poet has in this place happily translated the name of his friend Deodati into Greek. But Milton was fond of these versions of a name, which was so susceptible of translation. In each of the two familiar letters to his friend, which are extant, he calls him Theodotus.

& Deodati died unmarried, and, in this respect, resembled Mr. King, the Lycidas of Milton's Muse. Some of the thoughts in the conclusion of this poem are easily discoverable in the Lycidas.

* The elegant Dr. Langhorne, whose polished Muse has not yet, perhaps, obtained all the regard, to which she is entitled, has translated a part of this pastoral: but I was not acquainted with this circumstance till I had completed my own version. Dr. Langhorne has also translated the seventh sondet of Milton; but in neither of these instances, in which we tread the same ground, do we in any respect interfere.

As Daphnis or as Hylas you deplored,
Or Bion, once the shepherd's tuneful lord ;)
Lend your Sicilian softness to proclaim
The woes of Thyrsis ou the banks of Thame:
What plaints he murmur'd to the springs and floods,
How waked the sorrowing echoes of the woods,
As frantic for his Damon lost, alone
He roam'd, and taught the sleepless night to groan.
Twice the green blade bad bristled on the plain,
And twice the golden ear enrich'd the swain,
Since Damon, by a doom too strict, expired,
And his pale eye his absent friend required:
For Thyrsis still his wish'd return delay'd ;
The Muses beld him in the Tuscan shade:
But when, with satiate taste and careful thought,
His long forgotten home and flock he sought,
Ah! then, beneath the accustom'd elm reclined,
All-all his loss came rushing on his mind.
Undone and desolate, for transient ease
He pour'd his swelling heart in strains like these.

“ Return unfed, my lambs; by fortune crost

" Your hapless master now to you is lost." What

powers shall I of earth or heaven invoke,
Since Damon fell by their relentless stroke ?
And shalt thou leave us thus? and shall thy worth
Sleep in a nameless grave with common earth?
But he,i whose wand the realms of death controlls,
Forbids thy shade to blend with common souls.
While these, o'erawed, disperse at his command,
He leads thee to thy own distinguish'd band.

Return unfed, my lambs; by fortune crost

Your hapless master now to you is lost. And sure, unless beneath some evil eye, That blights me with its glance, my powers should die, Thou shalt not slumber on thy timeless bier “ Without the meed of one melodious tear."

i Mercury

Long shall thy name, thy virtues long remain
In fond memorial with the shepherd train:
Their festive honours, and their votive lay
To thee, as to their Daphnis, they shall pay:
Their Daphnis thou, as long as Pales loves
The springing meads, or Faunus haunts the groves,
If aught of power on faith and truth attend,
Palladian science, and a Muse thy friend.

Return unfed, my lambs ; by fortune crost

Your hapless master now to you is lost.
Yes, Damon, thee such recompenses wait.
But, ah! what ills bang gloomy o'er my fate!
Who now, still faithful to my side, will bear
·Keen frosts, or suns that parch the sick’ning air?
When k boldly, to protect the distant fold,
We seek the growling savage in his hold,
Who now, as we retrace the long, rough way,
With tale or song will soothe the weary day?

Return unfed, my lambs ; by fortune crost
Your hapless master now to you is lost!

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* In my translation of this passage, I have shown myself desirous of keeping the lions of the original rather in the back ground. In a British scene, they certainly appear to be out of their proper place; though their names may be here introduced only to express some dangerous and difficult exploit. My first translation of these lines differed from my present; and for what I had then written, Mr. Gifford offered to me some verses, which are too good for me to appropriate to myself, or to with. bold from my readers. The first of these lines is my own; the others are Mr. Gifford's.

5

Who now with me, tried partner of my toil,”
Will brave the chilling sky, and frost-bound-soil?
Or when the sun with fiercer glory reigns,
And nature faints along the thirsty plains ;
Dauntless, like thee, the prowling lion face;
And from the fold the gaunt hyæna chase?

To whom my bosom shall I now confide?
At whose soft voice will now my cares subside?
Who now will cheat the night with harmless birth,
As the nut crackles on the glowing hearth,
Or the pear hisses; while without-the storm
Roars tbrough the wood, and ruffles nature's form?

Return upfed, my lambs; by fortune crost

Your hapless master now to you is lost.
In summer too, at noontide's sultry bour,
When Pan lies sleeping in his beechen bower;
When, diving from the day's oppressive heat,
The panting naiad seeks her chrystal seat;
When every shepherd leaves the silent plain,
And the green bedge protects the snoring swain;
Whose playful fancy then shall light the smile?
Whose attic tongue relieve my languid toil?

Return upfed, my lambs; by fortune crost

Your hapless master now to you is lost.
Ah! now through meads and vales alone I stray,
Or linger sad where woods embrown the day;
As drives the storm, and Eurus o'er my head
Breaks the loose twilight of the billowy shade.

Return unfed, my lambs; by fortune crost

Your hapless master now to you is lost.
My late trim fields their labour'd culture scoro;
And idle weeds insult my drooping corn.
My widow'd vine, in prone dishonour, sees
Her clusters wither ; -- not a shrub can please .-
E'en my sheep tirc me:they with upward eyes
Gaze at my grief; and seem to feel my sighs.

Who now,

My first translation was certainly without much merit.

with me, tried partner of my toil, Will tread sharp frosts, and snows that drown the soil ? Or, when the sun-struck champain faints with heat Will now, with me, the mountain-savage meet, And from the trembling fold the fell devourer beat?

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